Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(106)

I trudged to the river to wash my scales; mist played on its face, and a grebe cried from somewhere in the reeds. The cold water dribbled down my waistband, wrenching me fully awake at last. I picked my way back to the group; they were almost ready to go, shouldering packs and tents that they’d carried up the falls in their talons.

The group had decided to walk up the valley to the next set of falls. I was glad that Eskar wouldn’t have to grab me again until all my chafes had healed. Nevertheless, once I’d retrieved my bag and caught up to her, I had to ask, “Is this really the best way to travel up the valley? It’s a lot slower than flying.”

Eskar arched one eyebrow. “The Futile Council voted that we should walk.”

“And Comonot went along with it?” I asked.

“Grudgingly,” she said. “Many were refusing to come unless he let them vote. These are not the saarantrai we’re used to; they’re acculturated Porphyrians at some level. They care what Porphyrians think of them. And they did have a point about walking up the valley: we eat more in our natural shape, and the only game to support us here is Porphyrian livestock.”

“And you didn’t want to simply take it?” I said, teasing her.

She blinked at me uncomprehendingly. “I absolutely did, but I lost the vote.”

The valley was a trough of verdant pastureland with mountains elbowing up rudely on either side. As we traveled, the pasture gave way to barley fields, then terraces of tea and vegetables as the valley narrowed. The cloudless sky seemed further away with each passing day, though we gained elevation. My heart was weightless for the first time in months. I thought about nothing but the road before me and the blue vault above.

On the eighth day out, the dragons turned aside from the Omiga, took their natural shapes, and flew up the thousand-foot falls of a tributary river, the Meconi, a wild straggler straight from the heart of the Tanamoot. It would be leading them home.

Eskar carried me in her talons again, but this time I wrapped myself in a blanket, padding against her unyielding claws. “Comfortable enough?” Eskar roared solicitously.

“It’s sweet of you to care!” I shouted back. She snorted sulfur in my face.

The landscape above the falls was utterly different from what we’d seen below. The mountains looked raw, unfinished; the trees grew sparse and spindly. This was my first glimpse of the Tanamoot, my mother’s homeland, rocky, cold, and wild.

The exiles maintained their natural shapes except for the five hatchlings, who shrank themselves back down to human form. I picked my way over to Brisi through the prickly brush and said, “Are you staying human-sized to keep me company?”

Brisi wrinkled her nose as if she thought I smelled. “We haven’t had as much practice with camouflage as our elders. They think we’re a liability.”

I glanced around at the two hundred massive creatures, baggage strapped to their forearms, snorting and flapping and screaming. “How can they possibly camouflage all this?” I asked, shaking my head.

She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “In the mountains, the only thing dragons have to fear is each other. Believe me, they know how to hide.” She walked pointedly away, clearly not wishing to talk to me.

The group set off on foot, to my astonishment. One would think that two hundred walking dragons would leave an enormous, easily discernible trail, but they were in their native shape now. Brisi was right: they knew how to hide in the mountains. They stepped on rocks to avoid leaving footprints in the sandy riverbank, flapping their wings to obscure what prints they did leave, and they moved with surprising stealth.

We kept to the bottom of the narrow valley, where the path was easier. Spruce forests grew a stone’s throw to either side. The mountains had patches of snow on their southern faces even in high summer. The Meconi River was bitingly cold; its breath chilled the air above into wisps of mist. As we climbed, the valley widened and the Meconi subdivided into a dozen tiny streams, braiding itself among soft little islands. The trees grew shorter and thinner, as if the forest were balding. It was a land of sticks and lichen and enormous mosquitoes. The twiggy spruces cast only thin lines of shade, and the contrasting glare was headache-inducing.

The beauty of the place moved me; I loved how clean the air felt in my lungs, how far I was from everything I had ever known. People I’d hurt, people I’d failed, people who thought me a monster. Here there was no monster greater than the ragged mountains.

On the third day into dragon territory, one of our scouts gave a chirping whistle; they’d spotted a patrol in the sky. The exiles immediately folded their wings over themselves, mottled their skin, and turned into very convincing boulders.

I thought I might crawl under Eskar’s wing to hide, but Brisi grabbed my arm and dragged me into a brambly bush. “In camouflage, we direct our body heat downward,” she whispered angrily in my ear. “A dragon in the sky would see it otherwise. You’d bake to death under Eskar’s wing.”

“Thank you, then,” I said, shaken. “I’m glad you know these things.”

Her mouth sagged despondently. “You’d think they’d trust me to do it properly.”

I could think of a reason or two the others might not trust her fully right now. She surely knew, too; she had the look of one who was beating herself up inside.



After dark, the exiles would spar with each other. Few were in fighting shape; fewer had ever been skilled enough to bring down anything more devious than an aurochs. Comonot did not seem worried. He demonstrated techniques, gave critiques, and repeated time and again, “Your minds are your surest weapons. Fight like a Porphyrian fisherman. Fight like a merchant. They’ll never know what hit them.”